The Paradoxes of American Nationalism

As befits a nation of immigrants, American nationalism is defined not
by notions of ethnic superiority, but by a belief in the supremacy of U.S. democratic
ideals. This disdain for Old World nationalism creates a dual paradox in the
American psyche: First, although the United States is highly nationalistic,
it doesn’t see itself as such. Second, despite this nationalistic fervor,
U.S. policymakers generally fail to appreciate the power of nationalism abroad.

Nearly two years after the horrific terrorist attacks on the United States,
international public opinion has shifted from heartfelt sympathy for Americans
and their country to undisguised antipathy. The immediate catalyst for this
shift is the United States’ hard-line policy toward and subsequent war
with Iraq. Yet today’s strident anti-Americanism represents much more
than a wimpy reaction to U.S. resolve or generic fears of a hegemon running
amok. Rather, the growing unease with the United States should be seen as a
powerful global backlash against the spirit of American nationalism that shapes
and animates U.S. foreign policy.

Any examination of the deeper sources of anti-Americanism should start with
an introspective look at American nationalism. But in the United States, this
exercise, which hints at serious flaws in the nation’s character, generates
little enthusiasm. Moreover, coming to terms with today’s growing animosity
toward the United States is intellectually contentious because of the two paradoxes
of American nationalism: First, although the United States is a highly nationalistic
country, it genuinely does not see itself as such. Second, despite the high
level of nationalism in American society, U.S. policymakers have a remarkably
poor appreciation of the power of nationalism in other societies and have demonstrated
neither skill nor sensitivity in dealing with its manifestations abroad.

BLIND TO ONE’S VIRTUE

Nationalism is a dirty word in the United States, viewed with disdain and
associated with Old World parochialism and imagined supremacy. Yet those who
discount the idea of American nationalism may readily admit that Americans,
as a whole, are extremely patriotic. When pushed to explain the difference between
patriotism and nationalism, those same skeptics might concede, reluctantly,
that there is a distinction, but no real difference. Political scientists have
labored to prove such a difference, equating patriotism with allegiance to one’s
country and defining nationalism as sentiments of ethno-national superiority.
In reality, however, the psychological and behavioral manifestations of nationalism
and patriotism are indistinguishable, as is the impact of such sentiments on
policy.

Polling organizations routinely find that Americans display the highest degree
of national pride among Western democracies. Researchers at the University of
Chicago reported that before the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, 90 percent
of the Americans surveyed agreed with the statement “I would rather be
a citizen of America than of any other country in the world”; 38 percent
endorsed the view that “The world would be a better place if people from
other countries were more like the Americans.” (After the terrorist attacks,
97 and 49 percent, respectively, agreed with the same statements.) The World
Values Survey reported similar results, with more than 70 percent of those surveyed
declaring themselves “very proud” to be Americans. By comparison,
the same survey revealed that less than half of the people in other Western
democracies—including France, Italy, Denmark, Great Britain, and the Netherlands—felt
“very proud” of their nationalities [see chart].

Americans not only take enormous pride in their values but also regard them
as universally applicable. According to the Pew Global Attitudes survey, 79
percent of the Americans polled agreed that “It’s good that American
ideas and customs are spreading around the world”; 70 percent said they
“like American ideas about democracy.” These views, however, are
not widely shared, even in Western Europe, another bastion of liberalism and
democracy. Pew found that, among the Western European countries surveyed, less
than 40 percent endorse the spread of American ideas and customs, and less than
50 percent like American ideas about democracy.

Such firmly held beliefs in the superiority of American political values and
institutions readily find expression in American social, cultural, and political
practices. It is almost impossible to miss them: the daily ritual of the Pledge
of Allegiance in the nation’s schools, the customary performance of the
national anthem before sporting events, and the ubiquitous American flags. And
in the United States, as in other countries, nationalist sentiments inevitably
infuse politics. Candidates rely on hot-button issues such as flag burning and
national security to attack their opponents as unpatriotic and worse.

Why does a highly nationalistic society consistently view itself as anything
but? The source of this paradox lies in the forces that sustain nationalism
in the United States. Achievements in science and technology, military strength,
economic wealth, and unrivaled global political influence can no doubt generate
strong national pride. But what makes American nationalism truly exceptional
are the many ways in which it is naturally expressed in daily life.

One of the most powerful wellsprings of American nationalism is civic voluntarism—the
willingness of ordinary citizens to contribute to the public good, either through
individual initiatives or civic associations. Outside observers, starting with
the French philosopher Alexis de Tocqueville in the early 19th century, have
never ceased to be amazed by this font of American dynamism. “Americans
of all ages, all stations in life, and all types of dispositions are forever
forming associations,” noted Tocqueville, who credited Americans for relying
on themselves, instead of government, to solve society’s problems.

The same grass-roots activism that animates the country’s social life
also makes American nationalism vibrant and alluring, for most of the institutions
and practices that promote and sustain American nationalism are civic, not political;
the rituals are voluntary rather than imposed; and the values inculcated are
willingly embraced, not artificially indoctrinated. Elsewhere in the world,
the state plays an indispensable role in promoting nationalism, which is frequently
a product of political manipulation by elites and consequently has a manufactured
quality to it. But in the United States, although individual politicians often
try to exploit nationalism for political gains, the state is conspicuously absent.
For instance, no U.S. federal laws mandate reciting the Pledge of Allegiance
in public schools, require singing the national anthem at sporting events, or
enforce flying the flag on private buildings.

The history of the pledge is an exquisite example of the United States’
unique take on nationalism. Francis Bellamy, a socialist Baptist minister, wrote
the original text in 1892; three major American civic associations (the National
Education Association, the American Legion, and the Daughters of the American
Revolution) instituted, refined, and expanded the ceremony of reciting it. The
federal government was late getting into the game. Congress didn’t officially
endorse the pledge until 1942, and it didn’t tamper with the language
until 1954, when Congress inserted the phrase “under God” after
being pressured by a religious organization, the Knights of Columbus.

Indeed, any blunt attempt to use the power of the state to institutionalize
U.S. nationalism has been met with strong resistance because of popular suspicion
that the government may be encroaching on Americans’ individual liberties.
In the 1930s, the Jehovah’s Witnesses mounted a legal challenge when some
school boards tried to make the Pledge of Allegiance mandatory, arguing that
the pledge compelled children to worship graven images. The flag-burning amendment
has failed twice in the U.S. Congress during the last eight years.

In the United States, promoting nationalism is a private enterprise. In other
societies, especially those ruled by authoritarian regimes, the state deploys
its resources, from government-controlled media to the police, to propagate
“patriotic values.” The celebration of national days in such countries
features huge government-orchestrated parades that showcase crack troops and
the latest weaponry. (The huge military parade held in Beijing in 1999 to celebrate
the 50th anniversary of China allegedly cost hundreds of millions of dollars.)
Yet despite its awesome high-tech arsenal, such orgiastic displays of state-sponsored
nationalism are notably absent on Independence Day in the United States. Of
course, Americans hold parades and watch fireworks on the Fourth of July, but
those events are largely organized by civic associations and partly paid for
by local business groups.

Herein lies the secret of the vitality and durability of American nationalism:
The dominance of civic voluntarism—and not state coercion—has made
nationalist sentiments more genuine, attractive, and legitimate to the general
public. These expressions of American nationalism have become so commonplace
that they are virtually imperceptible, except to outsiders.

A POLITICAL CREED

American nationalism is hidden in plain sight. But even if Americans saw it,
they wouldn’t recognize it as nationalism. That’s because American
nationalism is a different breed from its foreign cousins and exhibits three
unique characteristics.

First, American nationalism is based on political ideals, not those of cultural
or ethnic superiority. That conception is entirely fitting for a society that
still sees itself as a cultural and ethnic melting pot. As President George
W. Bush said in his Fourth of July speech last year: “There is no American
race; there’s only an American creed.” And in American eyes, the
superiority of that creed is self-evident. American political institutions and
ideals, coupled with the practical achievements attributed to them, have firmly
convinced Americans that their values ought to be universal. Conversely, when
Americans are threatened, they see attacks on them as primarily attacks on their
values. Consider how American elites and the public interpreted the September
11 terrorist attacks. Most readily embraced the notion that the attacks embodied
an assault on U.S. democratic freedoms and institutions.

Second, American nationalism is triumphant rather than aggrieved. In most societies,
nationalism is fueled by past grievances caused by external powers. Countries
once subjected to colonial rule, such as India and Egypt, are among the most
nationalistic societies. But American nationalism is the polar opposite of such
aggrieved nationalism. American nationalism derives its meaning from victories
in peace and war since the country’s founding. Triumphant nationalists
celebrate the positive and have little empathy for the whining of aggrieved
nationalists whose formative experience consisted of a succession of national
humiliations and defeats.

Finally, American nationalism is forward looking, while nationalism in most
other countries is the reverse. Those who believe in the superiority of American
values and institutions do not dwell on their historical glories (though such
glories constitute the core of American national identity). Instead, they look
forward to even better times ahead, not just at home but also abroad. This dynamism
imbues American nationalism with a missionary spirit and a short collective
memory. Unavoidably, such forward-looking and universalistic perspectives clash
with the backward-looking and particularistic perspectives of ethno-nationalism
in other countries. Haunted by memories of Western military invasions since
the time of the Crusades, the Middle East cannot help but look with suspicion
upon U.S. plans to “liberate” the Iraqi people. In the case of China,
U.S. support for Taiwan, which the Chinese government and people alike regard
as a breakaway province, is the most contentious issue in bilateral relations.
The loss of Taiwan—whether to the Japanese in 1895 or to the nationalists
in 1949—has long symbolized national weakness and humiliation.

INNOCENTS ABROAD

The unique characteristics of American nationalism explain why one of the
most nationalist countries in the world is so inept at dealing with nationalism
abroad. The best example of this second paradox of American nationalism is the
Vietnam War. The combination of the United States’ universalistic political
values (in this case, anticommunism), triumphalist beliefs in U.S. power, and
short national memory led to a disastrous policy that clashed with the nationalism
of the Vietnamese, a people whose national experience was defined by resistance
against foreign domination (the Chinese and the French) and whose overriding
goal was independence and unity, not the spread of communism in Southeast Asia.

In its dealings with several other highly nationalistic societies, the United
States has paid little attention to the role nationalism played in legitimizing
and sustaining those regimes the country regarded as hostile. U.S. policy toward
these nations has either disregarded strong nationalist sentiments (as in the
Philippines and Mexico) or consistently allowed the ideological, free-market
bias of American nationalism to exaggerate the antagonism of communist ideologies
championed by rival governments (as in China and Cuba). Former Egyptian President
Gamal Abdel Nasser’s brand of postcolonial Arab nationalism, which rejected
a strategic alliance with either the U.S.-led West or the Soviet camp, baffled
Washington officials, who could not conceive of any country remaining neutral
in the struggle against communist expansionism. Echoes of that mind-set are
heard today in the United States’ “you’re either with us or
against us” ultimatum in the war against terrorism.

This ongoing inability to deal with nationalism abroad has three immediate
consequences. The first, and relatively minor, is the high level of resentment
that U.S. insensitivity generates, both among foreign governments and their
people. The second, and definitely more serious, is that such insensitive policies
tend to backfire on the United States, especially when it tries to undermine
hostile regimes abroad. After all, nationalism is one of the few crude
ideologies that can rival the power of democratic liberalism. Look, for example,
at the unfolding nuclear drama on the Korean peninsula. The rising nationalism
of South Korea’s younger generation—which sees its troublesome neighbor
to the north as kin, not monsters—hasn’t yet figured in Washington’s
calculations concerning Pyongyang’s brinkmanship. In these cases, as in
previous similar instances, U.S. policies frequently have the perverse effects
of alienating people in allied countries and driving them to support the very
regimes targeted by U.S. policy.

Finally, given the nationalism that animates U.S. policies, American
behavior abroad inevitably appears hypocritical to others. This hypocrisy is
especially glaring when the United States undermines global institutions in
the name of defending American sovereignty (such as in the cases of the Kyoto
Protocol, the International Criminal Court, and the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty).
The rejection of such multilateral agreements may score points at home, but
non-Americans have difficulty reconciling the universalistic rhetoric and ideals
Americans espouse with the parochial national interests the U.S. government
appears determined to pursue abroad. Over time, such behavior can erode the
United States’ international credibility and legitimacy.

If American society had been less insulated from the rest of the world by geography
and distance, these conflicting perspectives on nationalism might be less severe.
To be sure, physical insularity has not diminished Americans’ belief in
the universalistic appeals of their political ideas. The nation was founded
on the principle that all people (not just Americans) are endowed with “certain
inalienable rights.” That sentiment has been passed down through successive
generations—from former President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s vision
of a world based upon “four freedoms” to President George W. Bush’s
“non-negotiable demands of human dignity.”

But the United States’ relative isolation, which unavoidably
leads to inadequate knowledge about other countries, has created a huge communications
barrier between Americans and other societies. According to a recent
survey by the Pew Global Attitudes Project, only 22 percent of Americans have
traveled to another country in the last five years, compared with 66 percent
of Canadians, 73 percent of Britons, 60 percent of the French, and 77 percent
of Germans. Lack of direct contact with foreign societies has not been offset
by the information revolution. In the years leading up to September 11, 2001,
only 30 percent of Americans claimed to be “very interested” in
“news about other countries.” Even after the September 11, 2001,
terrorist attacks, average Americans did not sustain a strong interest in international
affairs. According to polls conducted by the Pew Research Center in early 2002,
only about 26 percent of the Americans surveyed said they were following foreign
news “very closely,” and 45 percent of Americans said that international
events did not affect them.

An amalgam of political idealism, national pride, and relative insularity,
American nationalism evokes mixed feelings abroad. Many admire its idealism,
universalism, and optimism and recognize the indispensability of American power
and leadership to peace and prosperity around the world. Others reject American
nationalism as merely the expression of an overbearing, self-righteous, and
misguided bully. In ordinary times, such international ambivalence produces
little more than idle chatter. But when American nationalism drives the country’s
foreign policy, it galvanizes broad-based anti-Americanism. And at such times,
it becomes impossible to ignore the inconsistencies and tensions within American
nationalism—or the harm they inflict on the United States’ legitimacy
abroad.

Minxin Pei is a senior associate and codirector of the China Program at the
Carnegie Endowment for International Peace.